|
Healing hands, healing hearts
Nigerian bush village doctor
relies on the strength of his faith
Story and photos by Marylynn G. Hewitt, SFO of The Michigan Catholic
Enyibichiri, Nigeria — There are no X-ray machines, heart monitors or ultrasound machines in Dr. Joseph Ekoh's clinic in this bush village, a rugged 2 1/2-hour drive off the paved road. As a devout Catholic, he depends on something else for guidance – the power of prayer.
|
Some of the orphans of the village gather for a photo with Dr. Joseph Ekoh. | As the only medical doctor for thousands in this village and those surrounding it, he treats a range of conditions including malaria, polio, appendicitis, gangrene, pregnancy, cholera, simple fractures and an increasing number of those with HIV/AIDS. While some live nearby, others travel 80 kilometers (almost 50 miles) in hopes the doctor can help. In some cases, with little or no medication available, all the 30-year-old doctor can give is advice.
Detroit-based World Medical Relief African Partners, founded by Roger Matthews of Southfield, has provided much of the medicine the clinic does have, along with lab coats, a stethoscope and some medical supplies. The larger, new government-built clinic next door has never been opened and Matthews, now one of the village chiefs, is determined to find a way to get it open and equipped.
|
A mother rocks her sick baby in the clinic. |
Word has spread that he will visit today and dozens of birth attendants (midwives) meet our convoy and escort him dancing and singing for the last half-mile trek.
The clinic's main room is overflowing with one, and often two, patients in each of the dozen or so beds. More patients are getting IVs than IV poles are available. One IV bag hangs from a window frame and the other is held aloft by a visitor. With all the beds occupied, a woman lies on a sheet on the floor retching into a bucket.
Dr. Ekoh rushes into the room and the swarm of family members move out of his way as a quiet din settles in the clinic.
|
Elizabeth is grateful for her "great doctor." |
With no lab to help, he uses his own diagnostic tools — his stethoscope to check heart rhythms and rattling lungs and his palm to check for fever. "What hurts?" he asks. He calmly listens to their reply, asks a few more questions and then smoothly turns to the next patient. Dr. Ekoh is ruling out what first looked like a cholera outbreak. This group of patients lives in one compound with a shared village kitchen. Food poisoning, he deduces. They are all expected to recover – unlike last night when a 9-month-old and 14-month-old died from dehydration while he was at a meeting in Abakaliki, 31 miles away. They were buried before today's sun could blister the afternoon.
The cost for one in-patient day at the clinic is 5 naira — 38 cents – a strain on most family budgets in this farming community. Families provide food for the patients and the clinic supplies the fire pit out back for cooking.
|
Dr. Joseph Ekoh checks the abdomen of a sick woman while her child, at her right, receives an IV for dehydration from a fluid bag held aloft by the window frame. | Dr. Ekoh next moves to the line of pregnant women waiting outside his office where the examining table is barely an arm's length from the desk and chair. He has only a few simple tools for prenatal exams. In addition to the stethoscope, he has a measuring tape to check the width of a belly to help determine how far the patients are into their pregnancy. He also has a fetal cone, a metal instrument that looks like a rosebud vase, to hear the baby's heartbeat.
Elizabeth, who gives no surname, is 25 and one month from delivering her fourth baby. She says Dr. Ekoh is "a great doctor. We love his attitude. He helped me stay healthy."
Dr. Ekoh shares tidbits of advice with each woman and dismisses them with a smile. The total cost for prenatal care and delivery is 400 to 500 naira ($3.08 to $3.86). A Caesarean section is 2,000 naira ($15.44).
For his seven-day-a-week job, seeing an average of 40 to 45 patients per day, Dr. Ekoh earns the equivalent of $5,000 per year.
He returned home after medical school because, "I want to work for my people. I want to help the poor. It gives me a great challenge." He, his wife and their 7-year-old daughter live in a small house behind the clinic.
If he did not return, he says, "I see the white doctor coming inside the bush to treat my people. I have a duty to do for my people. It gives me great joy. People see me and I treat them and they get OK and they greet me. They talk to me and I feel joy. "
That inner joy has, at times, been tempered with sorrow. He remembers the woman who gave birth to conjoined twins. Dr. Ekoh bundled up the babies on his motorbike and took them to the teaching hospital in Abakaliki. Neither survived.
There are 35 in the village who are especially dear to him. They are the orphans and he delivered almost all of them. The 25 boys and 10 girls live with extended family members. Some of their mothers died at or after childbirth, others died from AIDS.
 Nigeria connection
This is the second in a periodic series on the Nigeria Catholic connection following a trip with Detroit-based World Medical Relief African Partners. For more information, visit www.worldmedicalrelief.com. | AIDS looms over this village, as it does the others we visit. Being from the area, he knows the power of the village women and has asked they let him know when they hear about someone coming back to the bush after being diagnosed in the city. "Many are living with AIDS. We give them proper nutrition and health and teach abstinence. We know the more they practice casual sex, the more they get it."
Dr. Ekoh faces the situation, but says there is no way it will get him down. The hardest part of his job? "Nothing. I have God and I help people. That's total joy – of course!"
|
